


Adra

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: Holy Orders [1]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Gen, PoE Inktober, ancient Engwith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18422232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: Thaos' parents first meeting.





	Adra

**Author's Note:**

> (PoE inktober, prompt 18: Adra)

Ridiculous, Verran thinks. He should not be so nervous, not when he is practically appointed already, and the soul reading is more of a formality than a real test at this point. His family has always been close to the throne, he has known Iestin since they were both children, taught by the same tutors. There was never any doubt that his place is at court, serving his king and his country as best he can – with his intellect and wits, and the wisdom that can bloom from these in time. Still, he has to focus to control his breaths in hope of slowing his heartbeat a little, and to discreetly wipe his damp palms on his robe.

The door is ajar, so he opens it and as soon as he enters, the guards greet him with curt nods. They are used to his presence by now, and he knows all of them by name, as well as their families. This is the real power at court – knowing all kith, every single person. After all, everyone can be useful in some way.

There is a young woman standing near the adra throne, at the feet of the stone dais. Upon noticing him, she smiles politely and briefly bows her head in greeting. Verran mirrors her gesture, but when he straightens, she is staring at him unabashedly, scrutinizing. That irritates him; and whoever she is, she holds no more sway at court than he does.

“Aren’t you too young to be here?” he asks, in a sickly sweet voice.

“No. But I will take that as a compliment to my beauty.” The woman laughs, not bothered by his remark in the least, disarming him easily by simply consciously ignoring the intent behind his words. “Besides, I am quite certain that I have more experience in soulreading that you have in advising, _master_ ix Arkannon,” she adds, obviously mocking him.

But she is cultured enough about it that he cannot really find a suitable retort. And if she is the soulmistress who is going to test him… He could have started that acquaintance in a much better way. Damn anxiety. Ridiculous.

“Perhaps,” she replies to his thoughts, and it takes him a great deal of self-control not to flinch in surprise. “But understandable. Therefore, I am willing to forgive your slip.”

Before he can respond, the door leading to and from the royal chambers opens, and Iestin walks inside. “Verran!” he grins. “Someone here cannot wait to be given more duties, I see.”

“I do take my duties seriously, High Justice.” Verran bows respectfully.

The soulmistress’ face is politely impassive, and her mouth does not move, but he could swear he has just heard a _giggle_. He does not comment on it, though; now he knows better than to do that.

“Now, now, enough with the titles.” The king approaches him and clasp his shoulders in a brotherly greeting. “This is a formality, but no need to make it so official.” He indicates the young woman with a slight move of his head. “I see you’ve already met my seer? Well, my wife’s, to be exact, since she is her advisor.” Obviously, Iestin is in the mood for jests today. But there is genuine admiration in his face when he turns to the soulmistress. “Master Berath claims he has not seen such a talent in three generations.”  He takes a step backwards. “Mistress Meliora, if you would…?”

“I already have.” The woman smiles. “He will do fine.” She grows serious, but there is something about her… like the constant, quiet sound of friendly laughter, or a soothing smile, something warm and bright. Her eyes are focused on him, and her eyebrows arch gently when he thinks that. “His mind is sharp; it can be both a parchment knife and a dagger. An excellent choice.” She reaches out a hand, putting two fingers on Verran’s forehead. “Verran ix Arkannon, I hereby proclaim your soul worthy of serving our sovereign and our nation.” Her voice is solemn, and an aura of dignity and gravitas unfurls around her, and suddenly it is very easy to believe that she indeed is a high priestess of the mind. “Do not breach the trust that we put in you.” Her hand withdraws, and she turns towards the king. “Iestin ix Engwith, here is a faithful soul, ready to sacrifice itself for the glory of your people and your kingdom. Respect it as you would your own.” With that, she bows to the king.

Verran is so overwhelmed with relief that he forgets the customary reply. He forces himself to reign the panic in – his dignity will suffer a little, but there are only a few witnesses, and failing in this particular ambition would have been a much greater blow to his pride – and he just bows instead.

For once, Iestin keeps a straight face and refrains from teasing. Even if it would be well within his rights as a king – and especially as a childhood friend – to do so.

The soulmistress, though, has no such qualms, and smiles merrily. “I’ve heard it is a common occurrence for love-struck people to lose their tongue,” she remarks, eyes gleaming with amusement.

Verran bites back an indignant huff, and then, as if by a miracle, recalls the traditional words and can speak them, sparing himself further humiliation. Love-struck? Preposterous. They have barely even met.

* * *

 

That night, he cannot fall asleep for hours, thinking of Meliora’s eyes. Like two pieces of clear, polished adra; deep, reflecting all the light that falls upon them, luminous with their own inner fire. Able to catch and hold a soul.


End file.
